Call, Upon Deaf Ears
by Ashida
Summary: And wish for once he could actually hear you.
1. Call, Upon Deaf Ears

Call, Upon Deaf Ears.

Violence rattled through the small Benriya apartment, windows clattered and wall panels shook with all the anger of a woman scorned as the door slammed shut behind one of Worick's clients. Well… ex clients now.

"Shit." Worick sighed and pressed a soothing palm against the scars where his eye should be, the pain ebbed with each breath, only to come back full force with the realization of his actions.

He fucked up.

Luckily, Nic wasn't back from his rounds by the time Big Mama got the news of his slip of the tongue and called to _very thoroughly_ voice their disappointment, the phone blared obnoxious and loud in the silence Worick had tried so hard to collect himself in.

How much had the woman told Big Mama? Worick would never find out, because as usual she didn't let on how much she knew, what information she held over another, and he didn't want to even broach the subject to ask. You know, let sleeping dogs lie and all that jazz.

One word from his mouth had cost Big Mama one of Pussy's most valued clients, because no way would a woman like that; take a slight as impertinent as this.

He couldn't care less about that though, really, like the proverbial shots fired it was already said and done, he'd cost Big Mama and himself money, owed Big Mama a favor or five, and had been stood down from his gigolo job until he sorted his shit out because it wasn't like him to cock up that badly.

No, the aftershock he was really dreading was Nic finding out, because _he'd_ want to know what happened, only so he could laugh and poke fun with that stupid tongue of his that he couldn't even use properly, use it in his arsenal of mockery and taunts that was still at the maturity level of the age when they first met, nothing more the standard between them.

Except this time he couldn't tell Nic why, because Nic _was_ the reason why, he was a Tag for fuck's sake, Nic was pretty much the reason for any trouble that was stupid enough to bite them in the ass now days.

That wasn't even it this time though, it was what he'd done to bring Nic into it that was the problem, it told of so many things Worick had left unspoken, all the things that should stay that way, whether or not Nic could actually hear him. Worick had heard himself say it, and that was all there was to it.

Too many truths had bubbled up with this, and he could only patch it over like the façade over his eye for so long. Nic picked up on everything, _everything,_ and he knew the Tag would ask _._

* * *

Since his gig had ended early that day, all Worick could do was wait in his own tension until Nic came home, let the apartment steep in smells of indecision and brooding so much so that it hit Nic full in the face the instant he walked through the door.

With his usual expression of indifference the Tag scanned the apartment before turning his gaze back to Worick in silent question, but Worick chose to stare out the window onto the street instead, forcing Nic to speak.

"Wot happuned?" the voice rung out, wary, and coarse with disuse.

Some things were better off getting over and done with, a quick kill was better than a slow painful death any day of the week.

He signed without looking to Nic, even though there was nothing outside worth his attention, _"I pissed off a client big time."_

"Huh?" and that was Nic's minimalistic way of asking how.

 _"…_ _. I said the wrong person's name."_ he signed again with a breath tentatively held, wondering if Nic was going to ask.

"Pfft." Was all the answer he got, a thud of footsteps and grunt of nonchalance as Nic went downstairs to get a drink.

There it was, the reaction he knew he'd get before Nic found out whose name Worick had actually said, the typical shit happens attitude and we'll deal with it resolve that they'd adopted for all these years.

Worick made it a point to never use names, what was the point in calling their names for them to hear, when the only person who he wanted to listen wouldn't _ever_ be able hear him, at all. Irony was a bitch.

But he'd slipped up this time, with this client and her dark pixie cut and slender frame, he'd taken her from behind, and if he closed his eye enough, blurred his vision in wishful thinking; it could almost have been someone else, and he'd said the truth out loud, hit himself in the face with it just as the client had, maybe Nic would, too.

Well, he could only find out.

Worick had spun himself around by the time Nic came up from the kitchen, given himself full view of the Tag with his fitted black shirt and cargo pants, those mid calf combat boots and the murder encased in that midnight scabbard, the real thing he wanted to see.

 _"_ _You're just loosing your game to old age."_ Nic signed after tossing a drink across the room, he then sat with his own, legs folded on the couch to take up as little space as possible, and faced his direction with a mocking twinkle in his eye and that damn tongue out.

"Ha, if only you knew what I was actually losing to." It was unfair of him to mutter under his breath, Nic couldn't hear him, and Nic's keen sense already picked up that Worick had done so on purpose, baiting him into the oncoming conversation.

 _"_ _What is it then?"_ came the movements; crisp and precise with no shortcuts or lazy gestures, a blank statement.

"You want to know whose name I said?" Worick pressed, signing along with his words.

A pause of introspection halted those calloused hands, _"Not really."_ But then Nic shrugged it off like he didn't care, or maybe he cared too much. Of all the things Worick could read, Nic was never one of them.

"Ah, true. What's the point when they couldn't hear me no matter how hard I try." He left his own statement open, the innuendo obvious to him but something Nic, even with his perfect vision, failed to grasp.

Nic's barricades were up as high as he'd ever seen them, keeping his truths out and the Tag's in, the air was sharp with questions, because it could still all fall either way. He could play it off and joke, give a false name and hope it was jealously pursing Nic's brows right now, or spell it out and hope that it _wasn't_ Nic about to turn away from him in aversion.

 _"_ _What is that meant – no."_ Nic cut off his own sign midway with a grimace and a scratch of his head, _"I don't wanna know who you think about when you fuck. Nasty."_

Ambiguity was Nic's biggest talent, and he was playing on that strength like he'd overdosed on Celebrer, all those possibilities that Worick wanted a glimpse of were impossible to pick up on, even after all these years.

"Why don't you want to know?" he could feel the boundaries he was pushing, when Nic didn't want to talk about something, that was it, the tension already coiled tight from waiting for this moment all day only heightened, and he knew Nic would shut down any second now, turn away so he couldn't see, and Worick had to get there before that happened.

 _"_ _Why would I want to know?"_ came the rebutted sign, fast, indignant and stubborn. _"Tell them, not me."_

The Twilight's well-defined shoulders were drawn taught, his expression severe, he really didn't want to know, didn't want to know if it was him, or if it was someone else.

Worick had to forge on ahead right now, or the moment would dissipate, he'd backed Nic into a corner, and a cornered Tag was dangerous.

"I'll tell you." He spoke clearly, seeing Nic's jaw clench as he watched Worick's fingers sign one word after another.

"Don't, Worick." And how unfair was it that of all the things Nic could pronounce perfectly; it was _his_ name instead, his name to resound in Worick's ears with threat and _hurt,_ because Nic didn't want to cross any of these lines.

"You need to know." He signed along with his earnest voice, and before he could even start spelling it out, Nicolas, letter by letter; the Tag was before him with those piercing hawk eyes and a constrictor's grip locking Worick's wrists together in a cage.

Turmoil and struggle stared back at him, a knowing gaze that was inwardly terrified to change anything between them, the Tag had already wrought enough destruction on Worick's life, any more than this would lead to ruin, they'd seen that all first hand.

"I… don' wanna ear't, Worick."

Like whiplash Nic's rough hands withdrew and left red marks in their wake, he turned, and with his drink forgotten on the coffee table; picked up his katana and stalked towards the door.

"Nicolas." Worick said it anyway; he called upon those deaf ears as that lithe frame drew further away, unhearing and oblivious, as he always would be.

Violence rattled through the small Benriya apartment, windows clattered and wall panels shook with all the resentment of a Tag conflicted as the door slammed shut behind the only person who Worick actually wished could hear him.


	2. Hear No Ills

Authors Notes: I decided I needed a Nic POV after all.

* * *

Nic knew the moment he'd stepped foot through the door that something was wrong, because when something was wrong with Worick, he could _feel_ the quiet. Feel the quiet that Worick sat in all day to soak the apartment in the stench of expired regrets.

He should have left well enough alone, Worick wasn't dying or worse; crying, so he should have just _left_ it. Just as he'd learnt to leave asking why Worick looked like shit some mornings. He could well guess what those nightmares were about, but he'd rather not know what monsters plagued his friend's sleep, because that monster was probably him.

But, he did the friend thing and asked, and got answers he didn't fucking want.

He'd escaped instead, Nic wasn't one to run, to flee from a fight or back down, but with this there was nothing else he could do. So he'd slammed the door behind him harder than he intended and found his way to a nearby roof top that no one could jump up to but him, and now here he was, sitting on the shingled roof with his katana clutched to his chest and the sun beating at his back as if saying he didn't belong up there, either.

What did Worick want him to say? Did he want Nic to return his feelings? Then what? The happily ever after Nic read about in books did not happen here in Ergastulum. Letting this materialize would just invite more pain into Worick's life instead. Worick needed to realize it was no use, just like everything else. Nic was going to die, and Worick already clung to him too much as it was.

Why did he have to go thinking of that tall bitch Paulklee and what she'd said at a time like this? _You shouldn't upset your contract holder so much, Nicolas._

Upset Worick, he'd killed his family in front of his eyes, slaughtered the entire Arcangelo estate, and he'd do it again if given the chance, he'd taken his fucking eye out, disfigured Worick permanently as if bringing down a normal to his level, compensation they all called it.

Nic would do that again too, there was no point in regrets or morals, they were useless and wouldn't get you anywhere in Ergastulum.

So why was he growing a conscience over _rejecting_ Worick of all things.

Knowing he'd be leaving Worick alone would bring the worst kind of pain, more so than what he lived with now every time he caught Worick looking at him with a rare unveiled expression, every time Worick smiled at him and pretended like it was something it wasn't, every time he saw Worick fake it.

It would be too hard if they crossed any more lines.

Worick was smart, much smarter than he led people to believe, and Nic was fucking glad the blond was on his side, but in this Worick knew just as well as Nic did, so what was he playing at now after all these years.

It was something Nicolas had resigned himself too long ago, and his mind would never change. And hopefully with this time to think it over, Worick would have come to his senses too.

The sun was still lazily moving through the sky when Nic arrived at the apartment and left as fast as he'd come. Now, that sphere of light was dipped below the horizon, bathing Ergastulum in false beauty, hiding all the ugly things the city harbored in its twilight until the true darkness took over.

But Worick was still sitting in the window sill when Nic came home for the second time that day, except this time he was looked to Nic instantly instead of ignoring him.

This was not going to go well, because instead of forlorn and hesitant as he was before, Worick now was resolved, like he'd committed to the conversation to come. Ah, he should have just stayed out the night, even if it meant sleeping on that rooftop.

Vibrations travelled up his body with each step Worick took towards him, forceful and scorned at Nic's earlier cowardice. So they were going to do this the hard way, he sighed to himself.

"Nicolas, tell me who's name you think I said." And Nic cursed his height at times like this as Worick towered over him, trapped him against the door with a palm planted on either side of his head.

Worick had been smoking too much in the time he'd spent alone, the apartment was shrouded with it, he could smell it on Worick's breath more than usual, as well as the smell of sex and Nic's cologne because Worick had borrowed it this morning. He smelt like day old hate and false hope and Nic really didn't want to do this.

So all he provided was a shrug, it was easy to feign ignorance when you were deaf, as if he couldn't hear the reverberations of Worick's deep voice in his bones, couldn't feel the sensation of his severity.

"Don't give me that look, you and I both know what I said." Worick pushed.

 _"_ _I'm deaf, Worick, how am I meant to know."_ he signed as proving his statement.

Bitterness flashed across Worick's face, hurt and betrayed at Nic's blatant avoidance of the truth. It was better this way, even if it meant hurting Worick now, in the short term this pain would be much less, and that was Nicolas's only objective.

Worick wasn't satisfied with that though, his persistence was A/0 level at least.

"You can't use that as an excuse with me anymore." And he pushed again, closer to the forbidden.

 _"_ _What do you want from me, Worick."_ Nic bristled against the wall, feeling his heckles rise as Worick's fists bunched on the wall either wise of his head, he felt his nails scrape against the wood as it echoed through the wall, sharpening the edge he was being forced closer to.

"Why won't you just admit it?!" From Worick's animation, the angry purse of his brows and the violent movements of his body, the way his shoulders hunched and the heave of his chest Nic knew he was yelling, and fuck this shit. Even if he couldn't hear it, Nic still wasn't going to take being yelled at, not over this when Worick himself knew why Nic remained mute about it for all this time.

So if Worick wanted to force it, then Nic would force it right back.

Pressure and retaliation made him snap, he'd been cornered long enough, bottling it up it his thoughts, so he pushed Worick, and because he was a fucking cursed Tag, of course it'd be too hard for a normal, hard enough to spend Worick falling under the weight of reality as he landed on his ass with a thump that Nic felt in his chest.

This was the truth of it, with a human sprawled helpless on the floor at his feet who simply couldn't handle a Twilight and would never be able to.

His signing was sloppy, his hands shook too much because he was _trying_ to calm down, there was so much he wanted to say, and signing only went so far. In the end, he ended up yelling himself, hurling the words at Worick to try and get it across.

"'Cos its all pointless! 't won' give you anythin' bah more trubble! You're deluded 'f you think it could worrk. An' in th end when I've diedd 'n inssignifficant death, how amm I meantt to leav' you behindd knowin' you'll be alone! You wan' me to suffer thatt mmuch?"

Stress and tension gripped his hair as the whites of his knuckles showed, he could feel his heart racing, his skin prickling with sweat and he knew he needed to calm down.

Making out the grain of the wood floor helped dampen his thoughts, the scuff on his boots or the frayed knot in his laces that he never undid. Eventually, he looked to Worick who had narrow eyes and a pretense of a snarl on his lip, of course Worick would hate Nic's reasoning, it was the only thing they ever fought about. And, not trusting himself to speak further because of the dry lump in his throat, he signed instead, pushing back against the counteractive ache in his conscience.

 _"_ _It would be better off if you said someone else's name."_

That last bit was a lot harder to sign than he thought would be, he'd take cutting off a head any day, but he wasn't done yet. Worick was up now, walking towards him with his bared palms pleading for Nic not to finish.

 _"_ _Because I won't hear it, Worick, and I never will."_

The last space closed between them as Worick drew close with a deflated air and a pitiful smile on his face that said he'd known it would end up like this all along. That dumbass.

"You're so cruel to me, Nicolas." The blond sagged against him, his head buried in the crook of Nic's neck as he himself sagged against the door, there they stood so close but so fucking far apart, huddled together at the entrance of their apartment like a preemptive last goodbye.

 _That's right, Worick._ Nic mused to himself. _I'll never hear it, even if I wanted to._

Truly, if Worick wanted him to suffer then this was the best way to do it, who was cruel one here really?


End file.
